Spare Parts
by Vaeru
Summary: Sparkbearer oneshots and drabbles, inspired by various things. Now up: Spare Parts I, and The List including prologue, #84, and #162 .
1. The Female of the Species

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **The Female of the Species

**Summary: **Transformers AU. Sparkbearer sidestory. In which human and Autobot politics don't quite mesh, Evelyn throws a tantrum, and Smokescreen is impressed. Oneshot.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **… wow, not even any cursing, unless you count Evy-curses.

**Author Notes:** A glimpse into the far, far future of the Sparkbearer stories. Some spoilers implied (so you may or may not catch them ;3). The inspiration for this one is Rudyard Kipling's poem "The Female of the Species." Hence the quote.

**

* * *

The Female of the Species**

_

* * *

She is wedded to convictions—in default of grosser ties;  
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!—  
He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,  
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.__  
_**- "The Female of the Species," Rudyard Kipling**

* * *

"You can't send out U.S. planes for this. They're out over Brazilian waters now. We're in communication with their government now, but you'll have to wait for clearance."

Smokescreen's glare was but one of many, but the human general, Walter McMaster, ignored them all, standing arms akimbo before the Cybertronian-scale viewscreens that dominated the command center.

The satellite images conveyed sporadic, static-laden images of churning ocean waters and smoky haze and – very, very rarely – multicolored blurs, purple and blue and white, punctuated by laser fire and explosions. Another screen showed a blue grid map of the Brazilian coastline, two purple dots dancing circles around a lone red.

"At least Starscream didn't stick around," breathed one of the more Autobot-friendly aides.

Ironhide was _livid, _and he made no attempt to hide it, growling in Cybertronian,"Skyfire can't keep that up! Those two slaggers're jus' playin' games with him! Optimus–!"

"I know, my friend," replied the commander in the same language, his voice grim. "A moment. Help is coming."

Smokescreen wondered what kind of help the Prime meant when the humans were so determined to keep the Autobots helpless in a political quagmire, but then the distinctive thunder of powerful engines caught his attention, growing louder. A quick check of the Fortress schematic showed three Autobot signals rapidly approaching, one of them marked by a very distinctive beacon.

The doors were opening even before the two cars had squealed to a halt, aft-ends slewed around so far that they were very nearly facing the opposite direction by the time they stopped, sweeping lines of black marring the corridor floor in their wake.

Sunstreaker transformed, his optics already shining nearly white. Sideswipe's door opened, and the small form of Evelyn Hughes emerged, her own eyes narrowed, face pale, lips pinched together in an expression of sheer fury.

Smokescreen thought it was a sign of great intelligence – or perhaps above-average self-preservation instincts – that none of the guards on duty in the command room attempted to stop the little femme as she strode toward General McMaster with all the deadly intensity of a looming thunderhead.

"Am I to understand," she said, voice carrying clearly across a room that had fallen silent save for the humming of computers and the thrum of Cybertronian systems, "that you are denying aid to an ally in need?"

"Foreign waters," said McMaster, barely sparing a glance at the two warriors who were now making it a point to Loom behind Evelyn. "It's out of my hands."

"Captain Erickson has made it quite clear that the Red-Tails are prepped and ready to fly."

"I can't–"

"Am I _also _to understand," growled the femme, voice growing sharp, "that Autobot Skyfire is under attack now due to his intervention on behalf of _your _soldiers?"

"I–"

"And that this intervention was _necessitated _after you sent a team into an area that Autobots Smokescreen and Jazz _both _advised you was regularly patrolled by Decepticon Seekers?"

"It is my prerogative if I want to verify intel for use by my own forces," snapped the general. "Pardon me, _Miss _Hughes, but not everyone puts such faith in these alien machines as you do!"

Infuriated revs came from all around, Autobots stiffening. Even the Prime's optics paled, Smokescreen noticed, but smoke was trailing from the white flier's right wing on the viewscreen, so perhaps it was not the conversation that affected him.

Even Smokescreen was surprised by what happened next.

Evelyn's hand lashed out, latched onto the general's impeccably straight, black tie, and _yanked._ She pressed forward, invading his personal space, and when she spoke, it was a _growl, _and the ensuing speech was a thing of much admiration amongst the Autobot ranks for years to come.

"You listen to me, you two-tongued, gutless, spineless, witless, _hopeless _excuse for a mentally-deficient troglodyte – that mech is risking his _life _to save _your men _because you were too much of a pompous, egotistical pain-in-the-aft to listen to their tactical data! Next time you want to play dice with life and death, go out and get _yourself_ shot! Stop recruiting other people to do it for you!"

She used her grip upon the man's tie to haul him down to her level. When she spoke, her voice came as a low, intense hiss that even Cybertronian audio-sensors had to strain to decipher.

"_Send out air support, or so help me, I have two _very _bored Lamborghinis who have been _begging _me for a chance to play hacky-sack with a human, and you are looking like an _extremely_ tempting volunteer."_

The general spluttered wordlessly, face turning an unhealthy shade of puce, but the deadly expression upon Evelyn's face did not change. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker stared down with identical expressions of barely-restrained malice, engines growling, optics white.

"S-send out the Red-Tails," the general stammered.

A muted whoop came over the communication channel, followed by Captain Erickson's satisfied crow of, _"Roger that, Command. We are on our way!"_

**

* * *

End ****The Female of the Species**


	2. That's a Woman

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

**

* * *

Title: **That's a Woman

**Summary: **In which Smokescreen meets Evelyn. Set in the far future of the Sparkbearer stories.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **nada

**Author Notes:** This one is inspired by the Celtic Thunder song "That's a Woman," which is the source of both quotes used. The song involves two singers, each with a drastically different view upon the nature of women.

Even Evelyn wears masks.

**

* * *

That's a Woman**

_

* * *

**Woman,  
Such a delicate creature.  
Every feature needs to be loved from the start.  
Be tender, and she'll surrender.  
Offend her, and she will harden her heart.**_

* * *

So engrossed was Smokescreen in reading the orientation files provided to him by the Fortress command crew that he very nearly trampled Evelyn Hughes underfoot on his way to a debriefing. Only the location-beacon worn by the femme at all times saved her from an untimely demise by way of Cybertronian inattention. Though the jamming devices she wore kept her from constant harassment by the Decepticons, the lack of any bio-electric signals at all was disconcerting at best and dangerous at worst.

His proximity sensors detected the beacon just as she stepped out of a side corridor into his path, and he sidestepped to avoid her, then hesitated as she stopped to peer up at him. He recognized her from the profile provided within the orientation files, as well as from several brief sightings from a distance – she was the only human femme seen regularly in the company of mechs such as Optimus Prime, Jazz, and the infamous Lamborghini Twins.

For all that, she did not seem at all aware that she had just escaped a hazardous situation.

She smiled up at him in that easy, warm manner that he had observed her use with most all Autobots – Sideswipe used the term 'maternal,' which made no sense to Smokescreen, and he had even researched it.

"Good morning," she said in faintly accented Cybertronian. "Smokescreen, am I right?"

"Correct," he said, returning the smile for courtesy's sake if nothing else.

"Oh, good. I'm still trying to memorize all the names from the latest personnel transfer. You're the defensive strategist for Magnus' group."

It was not an outright question, but there was a slight twist to the inflection of her words that implied curiosity. He nodded and made to go on his way.

"Are you settling in alright?"

To his surprise, she abandoned her previous path and fell in step beside him.

Consulting his data files on human social etiquette, he slowed his own steps drastically to keep pace. He would be late to the debriefing, but from what he had seen of Fortress Metellus thus far, military protocol was more of a gentle suggestion where Evelyn Meredith Hughes was concerned.

"It has been, ah, I believe you would say 'a learning experience.'"

"Impossible people in an impossible place doing impossible work," she replied. At his querying look, she grinned and elaborated, "A quote from one of Swoop's favorite shows. Have you seen M*A*S*H? _'__The people here are mad, quite mad, all of them. They are impossible people in an impossible place doing impossible work. The only act I can think of that would be madder would be to break them up.'"_

Smokescreen pondered this. He found it to be very apt and said as much.

"You should have Ratchet look at that, you know."

Smokescreen nearly misstepped "Pardon?"

"Your right sensory panel. You haven't moved it at all. Prowl always…" She hesitated, clearing her throat. "The joint is out of alignment. It must hurt."

Observant, he thought. "It's not serious."

The joint had been damaged on the shuttle ride through the space-bridge – the pilot had not been nearly as skilled as they had been led to believe, and more than one mech had sported dings and scrapes by the time they had landed.

"Don't let Ratchet hear you say that. About the only thing that ticks him off more than someone yowling about their scratched finish is having someone in pain from an injury that he could fix. _Especially _if it's 'not serious.'"

"I'll remember that."

"I'll be sure to check with him tonight to be sure that you do."

… was that a threat?

Amused, and not a little impressed, he smiled – genuinely this time.

"Noted."

"Miss _Hughes!"_

The shout echoed down the corridor, brusque and impatient and startling. A male with receding black hair and a heavily-built frame stalked toward them, his attention riveted upon Evelyn.

Smokescreen's job was to notice details, be it the mannerisms of his fellow Autobots or the subtleties of Decepticon movements upon the battlefield. It was because of this that he was immediately aware of the change in the little femme's demeanor.

She stood taller. Her shoulders squared. The open warmth of her earlier conversation vanished as her optics narrowed and her mouth formed a small, straight line. As though she were about to step into battle herself, she tucked her chin ever-so-slightly and even balanced her weight forward upon the balls of her feet.

The change was so startling that Smokescreen turned his attention to the male, searching for any signs of imminent violence.

"Mr. Sutherland." The femme's voice was cool and toneless. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Those damn sportscars! How am I supposed to keep the peace with the local authorities when I have Lamborghinis and Corvettes and God-only-knows-what-else running roughshod all through the tri-state area?"

"Disciplinary measures are a matter for their commanding officers, Mr. Sutherland. You know that. Autobot Jazz will be more than willing to help you, I'm sure."

"Don't try to pawn me off on _him. _He's just as bad as the rest! And those two… two… Those two hulking _monsters _you're always off with! They're the worst of all!"

"Autobots Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are well-known for their less-than-professional behavior, Mr. Sutherland, as I'm sure you know. I'm also sure that you're aware that they comprise this outpost's best stationed warriors in case of Decepticon attack."

"A pretty way of saying that everyone's too scared of them to say boo about anything they do!"

"_Mr. Sutherland."_

The man subsided, breathing heavily through his nose.

"Mr. Sutherland," Evelyn repeated, quieter this time, "this is neither the time nor the place for this conversation. If you would like, I will schedule a joint meeting with Autobot Jazz and myself to discuss this matter. Are you free tomorrow morning, perhaps around ten?"

The man nodded mutely.

"Perfect. I'll contact your offices and have it arranged."

With a quick, suspicious glance up at Smokescreen, the man muttered something of an agreement and stalked off the way he had come.

By the time Smokescreen returned his attention to Evelyn, the tension had vanished from her frame, and she tilted her head in a Cybertronian shrug and smiled at him.

"I'm sorry to have delayed you, Smokescreen. I hope you won't have any trouble because of it."

"I'm sure it will be fine."

"I'll see you some other time, then. I hope everything goes well. And if you have any problems, just let me know and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you. I appreciate the thought."

She waved and turned back toward her original errand. Smokescreen watched her go, intrigued.

**_

* * *

Delicate creature is something she ain't.  
Better take it from me, that's a woman.  
That isn't an angel. That isn't a saint.  
Better take it from me, that's a woman.  
She knows how to please, and she knows how to play.  
Take it from me, that's a woman.  
Forget to honor, love, and obey,  
She'll take you and break you and throw you away.  
That's a woman. That's a woman._**

**

* * *

End ****That's a Woman**


	3. The List: How It Began

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **The List

**Summary: **Transformers AU. Sparkbearer sidestory. Evelyn's list of "Things That I Never Thought I Would Do But Wound Up Doing Anyway Because Of Those Blasted Autobots." Drabbles and oneshots. Ongoing.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing, other warnings to be posted on a chapter-by-chapter basis

**Author Notes:** Once more, I have been bitten by the sidestory bug. This one came about after listening to Evelyn gripe about all the weird situations she ends up in thanks to Sideswipe and his ilk.

And you have to admit, she _does _have a point.

* * *

**The List**

**How It Began

* * *

**

_**Rules: **_

_**1) **__An experience cannot be included on The List simply due to the involvement of 'giant alien robots.' (I. e. 'eat dinner with giant alien robots,' 'watch TV with giant alien robots,' etc.)_

_**2) **__Ditto for 'disembodied voice.'

* * *

_

"What's this?"

Evelyn held up the journal and looked toward Jamie questioningly. Seated beside her on the small couch, the dark-haired woman smiled, but it was the sort of smile that never reached the eyes and merely deepened the stress-lines upon her face. It was the sort of smile that made Evelyn's heart clench with guilt.

"It's a journal," said Jamie.

"I can see that."

"Oh." Jamie swatted Evelyn's shoulder lightly. "Don't be thick, Chickadee."

"I'm not being thick. I'm being confused." She set the journal upon her lap and ran her fingers lightly over the cover. It was bound in a soft material not unlike suede, dyed a deep emerald green, embossed with vines and flowers. "Not that it isn't lovely, of course."

"It's... This is going to sound silly, but you don't ever talk to me or your folks or Dicky-boy or... anybody, really. And even _I _know that's no good, and every gal needs a diary. So, I saw it at the store the other day, and it just seemed _right." _

Evelyn pondered that, opening the journal. Her eyes blurred with tears as she saw a short message scrawled upon the inside cover in Jamie's elegant script. _**For My Chickadee, something for you to talk to. Love, Your Lark.**_

Evelyn sniffled. "God, Jamie, you are such a smooshy... sappy... Lookit, you're gonna' make me cry!"

"Don't you dare," Jamie scolded. "If you cry, then I'm going to cry, and then we'll just have to get out the hairdryer to air out the carpet 'cause the floor is going to be darn well soaked."

Evelyn laughed and snuffled and swiped at her eyes. "Chickadee and Meadowlark. From the days when writing coded messages in class was cool."

"Coulda' given James Bond a run for his money, hm? Though I'm pretty sure Mrs. Johansen wasn't fooled." Jamie glanced toward Evelyn out of the corner of her eye. "Do you really like it?"

"I love it." Evelyn wrapped her longtime friend in a one-armed hug and squeezed. "Love it, love it, love it."

* * *

_**Dear diary...**_

Evelyn stared at the line. She closed one eye and squinted, considering. _Cliché, _she thought. _Very, very cliché. _

She erased the two words and pressed the eraser to her lips, pondering. After a moment's thought, she tried again.

_**My name is Evelyn Meredith Hughes.**_

She erased that as well. Sighing in frustration, she rolled her eyes, and suddenly the pencil seemed to be moving on its own.

_**You know, this wouldn't be half so hard if it weren't for those oversized tinker-toys that abducted me in the first place. **_

_**Everyone thinks of aliens as little green, spindly, bug-eyed fellows, and here I am, Evelyn Hughes, linguistics professor, budding mechanic, onetime schizophrenic, who can honestly say that there **_**is**_** intelligent life in the universe, and it averages thirty feet tall, travels armed to the gills, and is very much of the mechanical persuasion.**_

_**To borrow a phrase, 'who'da thunk?'**_

She grinned to herself. "'Who'da thunk,' indeed."

_**And, naturally, being the only human currently aware of their existence, I'm entitled to a great deal of 'firsts.' First contact, of course, but also first extraterrestrial food sampling, first human-Cybertronian symbiotic... whatever you would call what happened to Sideswipe and me.**_

Evelyn laughed softly and covered her eyes with her free hand. Images of a towel-lined box and a towering silver table and glowing blue eyes filled her head, and she set to writing once more.

_**To be honest, I don't know who was more out of their depth: me or the poor sparks who had to take care of me. Bless them, I'll never be able to repay them. **_

_**Come to think of it, I'll never be able to repay Sideswipe either, but as Ratchet would say, "That's a whole other bucket of bolts."**_

Her cheer vanished, and she now frowned as she turned to a new page.

_**I must be some sort of magnet for surreal-slash-ridiculous situations. Be abducted by aliens –really, honestly abducted by **_**aliens,– **_**get involved in an extraterrestrial war (which has been going on since before my species evolved), help with first aid for an alien military unit, witness the first ever episode of When Cats-Cradles Go Bad— **_

"Poor Bluestreak," she said, and then she had to pause in writing until her fit of fond giggles subsided. "Poor _Ratchet."_

_**I'm going to have to make a list. I've got to keep track somehow.**_

She paused. She looked at the last two sentences. She pondered. _Not a half-bad idea._

Evelyn turned to a new page and wrote in large block letters:

_**THE LIST**_


	4. The List: 84

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **The List

**Summary: **Transformers AU. Sparkbearer sidestory. Evelyn's list of "Things That I Never Thought I Would Do But Wound Up Doing Anyway Because Of Those Blasted Autobots." Drabbles and oneshots. Ongoing.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing, other warnings to be posted on a chapter-by-chapter basis

**Author Notes:** You know it could happen. Set while Evelyn was aboard Metellus in Juxtaposition.

* * *

**The List

* * *

**

**I never thought that I would... **

**#84. ****Explain the significance of the word f—.

* * *

**

"Evelyn, what does 'f—' mean?"

Evelyn froze. She gaped up at Bluestreak's innocent, earnest expression in horrific disbelief. "What...?" she asked weakly.

'_Oh, this isn't going to be pretty.'_

The mech frowned, confused. "I said, 'What does—"

"I heard you!" she snapped. At Bluestreak's injured expression, she waved one hand slightly in lieu of apology. Her mouth opened and closed uselessly for several long moments. "How did—Who did—Where in God's name did you learn... that word?"

"Jazz," said the gunner.

"Jazz?!"

Her shriek resounded throughout the rec room, sending several conversations stuttering into silence, and from over by the energon dispensers, the black and white mech's voice came.

"Ya bellowed?" Jazz made his way across the room, weaving between the tables, and took a seat opposite Bluestreak. "Yer spendin' way too much time with th' Hatchet, Evy. For a li'l thing, ya sure got some kinda' volume."

'_Hah.'_

"You don't know a _thing _about my 'volume'!" Her fists clenched uselessly in her lap. If there had been anything suitable to hand, she would most certainly have thrown it straight at that ever-present grin. "Where do you get off teaching Bluestreak things like curse words? You should know better!"

'_Maternal,' _muttered the voice.

"Curse words?" echoed Bluestreak.

"Hey, now!" Jazz held up his hands in what was (Evelyn had learned) a universal sign of surrender. "Put the safety back on. What are ya talkin' about, curse words? Blue 'n' me were jus' listenin' to some music I saved from Earth."

"What _kind_ of music, exactly?"

"All kinds." The air was abruptly filled with pounding drums and blaring guitars and shrieking voices, and as soon as Evelyn had identified a song, Jazz switched and played a new one, running through fifteen or more in a few short minutes. The only unifying element was... that word. Evelyn listened with growing mortification, her cheeks growing warmer and warmer with each new example.

'_He has a point,' _said Sideswipe.

_I think I'm going to be sick, _said Evelyn. _Or faint. _

_Probably faint._

"Alright, alright, that's enough!" The music cut off. Grimacing, she pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed, feeling the first faint twinges of an oncoming headache. _Christ. On an alien ship, heaven-only-knows-how-many lightyears away from Earth, and humanity still manages to corrupt them._

'_Don't flatter yourself.' _

"Blue brings up a good point," said Jazz. "What exactly _does_ 'f—' mean?"

"Stop _saying_ that!" Her face was probably nearing a shade of pink in the neon range, and she pressed her palms to her cheeks in the faint hope that it might somehow cool them.

"Well," said Jazz, "I've looked it up in th' Earth files, but there's nothin' that really says anythin' definite. It can be anythin' from breedin' to somethin' that folks say when they're angry or surprised or happy or disappointed. And I really don't get what 'motherf—er' means."

Evelyn squeaked. "Would you _stop it?"_

"I don't understand why you're so upset," said Bluestreak, looking not a little upset himself. "It's just, it's such a strange sounding word, and neither Jazz nor I could make any sense of it. What's so special about it?"

'_Other than the miraculous power to make humans change color?' _snickered the voice.

_This is so _very_ not funny._ Her eyes widened in horror as conversations started up at various surrounding tables.

"What are they talking about? 'F—' or something? What's that?"

"Some organic word, I guess."

"What's so strange about 'f—'?"

"Is it anything like frag?"

"F— and frag don't sound a thing alike. Glitch."

Evelyn drew in the deepest breath she could ever remember taking, and before she could think twice about it, she screamed, "EVERYBODY, _QUIET!"_

Silence descended upon the room. Evelyn found herself the focus of countless pairs of glowing blue eyes, and she breathed heavily, glowering around the room.

"Alright. Alright, enough. It's a bad word. It's a rude word, and to be honest, if anyone in my family ever heard me use it, I'd be bruised black and blue for a month." She thought for a moment. "And if I _ever _hear _any _of you say it again, I... I...

"I don't really know what I'd do..." She trailed off.

'_That has to be the _worst _threat I've ever heard.'_

_I'm smaller than their fists, _she thought helplessly._ What kind of threat power do I have?_

'_Primus, you really are thick.' _The voice gave the impression that it was somehow rolling nonexistent eyes. _'What's white and red and grouchy all over?'_

_... You're a genius._

"I'll tell Ratchet," she said.

Jazz laughed. "No need t' fight dirty."

"I was just curious," mumbled Bluestreak.

* * *

**End #84.**


	5. The List: 162

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **The List

**Summary: **Transformers AU. Sparkbearer sidestory. Evelyn's list of "Things That I Never Thought I Would Do But Wound Up Doing Anyway Because Of Those Blasted Autobots." Drabbles and oneshots. Ongoing.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing, other warnings to be posted on a chapter-by-chapter basis

**Author Notes:** Set in the far future. Draw what conclusions you will.

* * *

**The List

* * *

**

**I never thought that I would...**

**#162. Get knocked into a vat of oil larger than Mason City's pool. (Note to self: Wheeljack no longer to be trusted around slippery surfaces.)

* * *

**

_I. Hate. Mechs._

Her keys landed beside the phone with their usual obnoxious clatter. She flung the duffel-bag (her near-constant companion these days) to its normal place in the corner beside the door, toed off her shoes, and stood still for a short moment, allowing herself to fume.

Oil –clear and viscous, of the Cybertronian variety– weighed down her hair and clung to her skin, sticky and clammy and altogether _extremely _uncomfortable.

"I smell like an auto-repair garage," she groused.

Her phone rang.

She glared at the innocent plastic contraption, waiting for the shrill noise to cease. The answering machine kicked on with its usual _whir _and _click._

"**Evelyn?" **

Her glare intensified threefold at the sound of Wheeljack's voice.

"**Evelyn, I know you're home. Bluestreak just commed that he'd dropped you off. Are you okay? I'm really sorry about... what happened."**

"Better be," she snorted and began to work at the buttons of her blouse. She gritted her teeth when her oil-slicked fingers fumbled at the normally simple task.

"**Well, I hope you'll come back tomorrow. You've been a huge help with the construction. You know how to contact us if you need anything. Again, I'm really, really sor—" **_Beep._

Evelyn pressed _delete_ and then frowned at the shiny fingerprint that marred the answering machine. She rubbed at the mark, but her efforts merely smudged it and made it worse.

"Drat. Drat, drat, _drat." _Her fists clenched at her sides. "Wheeljack, if I hadn't had spare clothes to change into, I would have ripped out your motor-relay core by the _roots."_ She finished undoing the buttons and stripped off her shirt, walking toward the bathroom. "And I don't care what Prowl says about resources, _you are building me an on-site shower."

* * *

_

**End #162**


	6. Spare Parts I

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Spare Parts I

**Summary: **A little bit of everything, tossed in a blender and pureed into something resembling literature.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** Bits and pieces that never made it into a larger story. Possible spoilers, but I doubt it. Several of these may be considered AU due to changes I made to the overall storyline after first writing them.

* * *

**Spare Parts I

* * *

**

"Oh, Blue, I love it!" She traced the strange glyph with her thumb, then let the cuff dangle loosely from her fingers and tapped it against the tabletop. It chimed, a clear, ringing sound. "Is this real silver? It sounds like it. Where in the world did you find it?"

"I was on duty with Hoist down in the cargo bays and found a lot of weird stuff in a box off in a corner, and Jazz said something about humans liking shiny things when I asked him what to do for your creation day, so I thought I could use some of the stuff to make a present."

"That strange stuff from Teyonu 8? And Hoist just let you take it?" Hound frowned.

"I asked Prowl first," Bluestreak replied, wing panels held down and back defensively.

Jazz snickered as he returned from fetching himself a new cube of energon. "Prowl would prob'ly give ya one o' his sensory panels if ya gave him that _Look _when ya asked."

The gunner turned wide blue optics toward the saboteur, his wing panels drooping uncertainly. "What look?"

Evelyn glanced from Bluestreak to Jazz, who was now on the receiving end of one of the most devastating Little Lost Puppy Looks she had ever witnessed. She raised one hand to hide her smile. The black and white mech in question looked to be quite out of his depth. He gave a rueful little laugh and held out his cube.

"Energon?" he offered.

Evelyn burst out laughing, clamping both hands across her mouth to muffle the noise.

'_I have got to learn how to do that,' _said Sideswipe, sounding awed.

* * *

"Brawn? But… but he's a _mini."_

Jazz laughed. "Mini or no, he ain't a mech I'd ever challenge to an arm wrestlin' contest, know what I mean? Really, Evy, the guy's called 'Brawn' for a reason!"

"I just find it very hard to imagine."

"Evy, the mech's got backups for his backups, safeguards for his safeguards, and reinforcements for his reinforcements! Trust me, Bruticus could step on him, and all that'd happen would be Swindle winding up with a nice Brawn-shaped dent in his chassis to hammer out back at base."

* * *

"Jazz, just out of morbid curiosity, are you and Prowl, er…?"

"An item? Dating? Going together? … Doing it?"

"… D-do Cybertronians have an 'it'?"

* * *

"Wanna' make some noise, Screamer?" challenged Jazz, grinning like a cat. Panels on either side of the saboteur's waist slid aside, revealing the heavy-duty speakers that were the mech's pride and joy.

Sideswipe screamed out, _"Hit the deck!" _and proceeded to put action to the words by swan-diving face-first into the ground, leaving a suddenly opponent-less Skywarp gaping down at the prone warrior, and all the Autobots within hearing range followed immediately behind the red mech, including Optimus Prime himself and the famously dirt- and mud- hating Sunstreaker.

A split second later, Jazz's notorious sound system kicked on at maximum volume and proceeded to pound the air, the earth, and the Decepticons apart.

* * *

"Give me a minute! This isn't easy, you know..."

Obligingly, the mech sat quietly. To a creature who lived thousands to millions of years, a few minutes was nothing much to ask.

Finally, Evelyn said, "I want... I want to find my right toe."

The mech's optics flicked toward her feet, and Evelyn laughed.

"Metaphor. It's called a metaphor."

"I fail to see what human appendages have to do with the concept of 'love'."

"It's... Falling in love should be like finding a part of yourself. Like my right toe. I stub my toe; my toe feels it, and I feel it, but there's no way to tell where I end and the toe begins. There should be no 'him' and 'me'... just 'us'. You see?"

"... falling in love is like injuring yourself?"

Evelyn's mouth twisted into the half-frown, half restrained laugh shape that it assumed so often around the strange alien mechs. "No. That's childbirth. That comes much, much later."

* * *

"See? See? I _told _you I was funny!" The younger man puffed out his chest and grinned a Cheshire-cat grin at her. Evelyn shook her head and tried her best not to smile.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Miguel. Prowl was just being nice."

"What?"

"I told you. He doesn't get Earth humor. Never has. I'm not sure he ever will."

"But he rumbled! You said a rumble meant laughter. He was laughing!"

She patted his shoulder. "Sorry. The pitch was too high. I'm afraid you got a consolation chuckle."

The young man stared at her. "... too high?" he asked.

"Any higher and it would have been a moan."

"... moan...?"

"You'll get it eventually."

* * *

MOVIE STARSCREAM... MECHANICAL TRISCUIT EXTRAORDINAIRE.

* * *

Evelyn gaped at the saboteur, aghast. "_Jazz! _When I said I'd wash and wax anyone who could take down Ratchet, that wasn't a real bet! And Ratchet was throwing laser scalpels at anything that moved at the time!"

Jazz grinned down at her, completely unsympathetic. If anything, the saboteur was highly amused. "Tough luck, Evy. You're down with the bets, and the fight's started. If Sunshine wins, he's getting a wax."

Evelyn's face transformed into a formidable scowl. "We'll just see about that," she grumbled. She stormed through the veritable forest of towering metal legs, secure in the knowledge that she was as safe as the comm-unitbeacon could ever make her, and made her way to the front of the crowd.

Ratchet was in bad shape, dented and dinged and drawing great draughts of air into his cooling systems. The scuffed metal along one side of his face indicated that Sunstreaker had gotten in one near-victorious attack at least. The yellow Lamborghini was grinning a wolf's grin at the medic as the two circled the ring.

Evelyn cupped her hands around her mouth. "Ratchet!" she bellowed. "Don't you slagging _dare_ lose, you hear me?!"

Sunstreaker laughed an ugly laugh, and rumbles of amusement came from several quarters. Ratchet let out a growl.

"Not now, Evelyn." To his credit, the medic did not once take his eyes from Sunstreaker.

"_Yes, _now!"

Bumblebee tried to shush her. "Evelyn, you'll distract him..."

"Remember last week?" yelled the woman, ignoring the yellow minibot. "Who was it that came into the bay a breem before you went off-duty because he went and got into a scrap with Tracks over whose armor was a better color? Kept you nearly a joor late, didn't he?"

The noise level dropped noticeably, and several mechs looked away from the fight to watch the small organic who was shouting her lungs out.

"And what about the last battle? Who went running after the 'Cons like some glitched madbot and got his legs scrapped for his stupidity? And who was it that spent the next three orns sulking in the 'bay while you took extra time to build him replacements, and him spouting slag at you the whole time?"

Ratchet's systems let out a low rumble, his optics paling.

"And what about everything else?" Her voice rose to even greater volumes and cracked at the effort. "Who's always getting banged up in useless fights so that you always have to repair him _and _whoever he was scrapping with? And who's always complaining about scratches to his glorious finish? And who's the one who wrecked the 'bay and glued all your equipment to the ceiling so that Grapple had to be called in to get them loose? _Who called you an outmoded piece of scrap-yard junk?"_

The medic crouched, optics glowing nearly white.

"_Sunstreaker," _hissed the white and red mech, and Sunstreaker had one short moment to look worried before Ratchet leapt.

* * *

"Found yourself a friend, _Sunshine?" _sneered the minibot.

Sunstreaker's systems snarled, but Evelyn beat him to the punch.

"Oh, shut the hell up!" It felt good to snap at someone and not feel guilty about it. Most of the mechs were just too damn nice for her to justify venting her temper on them, but Gears…

Well, Gears was Gears. Case closed.

"He wasn't doing a damn thing to you," she continued, "so why don't you just mosey on along to wherever the frag you were going before you decided to try and get yourself scrapped, huh? Go on! _Shoo."_

Faint snickers came from various mechs around the room. Gears stared at her in shock, but then his expression melted away into mulishness, and he slumped off toward the energon dispensers.

Sunstreaker was looking at her, his expression unreadable. Evelyn shrugged.

"Jerk," she said, by way of explanation.

He regarded her silently for a long moment, and then, to Evelyn's utter shock, he rumbled a short, sharp laugh and smirked.

* * *

Pain sang along his side, severed wires crackling and popping before repair systems shut off those relays and rerouted the energy through periphery systems. Warnings flashed in his vision – structural damage, energy loss, low fuel – and his brother's ire burned at the back of his mind.

(I'm coming.) It was a promise, a reassurance, and a deadly threat all in one. He spared himself a brief moment of dark satisfaction at the thought of his brother and his pursuers meeting – a royal scrap-fest, without a doubt, and Sunstreaker would not be the one worst off afterwards.

His tires slid briefly on the wet road when he cornered too tightly. The torrents of water fell from the dark sky in a flood that did his visual sensors no good at all and pried into the rents in his armor, sizzling on severed connections and seeping into torn tubing, infiltrating his lubricant and coolant lines.

(I'll meet you,) he replied.

He could sense his brother's location, far off to his right, beyond a growth-covered ridge that he could feel looming over him even in the darkness, but the road continued forward, and he followed it for speed's sake, all-too-aware of the three energy signatures following close behind him.

His systems were redlining, but there was nothing for it. He had done it all before, pushing himself to the limit and then demanding more. His engine labored, ventilation systems working far harder than their designers had intended. It was something of a blessing that his hood had been torn away in the battle; the rain acted as an inefficient but appreciated cooling system.

It also exposed his spark chamber and his cargo to the elements and added to the danger of the various bumps and pits in the road. That would be just the energon goodie to top off this fiasco, hitting a pothole and watching It go flying off into the darkness with no regards for Its bearer's need for haste, but It was not something that could simply be shoved into a subspace pocket, and his frame had very little in the way of storage compartments – any extra space held weaponry or backup systems.

(It could be worse,) he sent, feeling his brother's growing urgency vibrating down the bond, buzzing unpleasantly.

(Oh, really.) Not a question. Not even vaguely amused.

(Yep. It could be a Trine!) A new warning blinked onto his display: systems overheating. Yeah, he had kind of picked up on that from the steam streaming back in his wake. Primus…

(Frag these glitched-up organic pests to the Pit!) spat Sunstreaker, and he swerved a bit in surprise at the vehemence in his brother's voice.

(Problem, bro?)

(These Primus-forsaken roads! How the frag do they find their way anywhere in this mess? There's no structure!)

(You know, there's this lovely global information system that they've got…)

One could not actually snarl over a bond, but the tangle of rage-frustration-fear that Sunstreaker tossed his way came awfully close.

He turned onto a side-road, this one aiming more-or-less toward Sunstreaker's slowly nearing presence. A few moments later, he was smugly satisfied to sense one of his pursuers overshoot the turnoff. Score one for Sideswipe. It was about fragging time something went his way.

_Maybe this'll turn out okay after all…

* * *

_

**End Spare Parts I**


End file.
